Hellblazer Guardian Angel
by Zombie
Summary: John's back in England on the trail of the Antichrist - contains disturbing scenarios - Completed Story
1. Consequences

Hellblazer – Guardian Angel Part 1 - Consequences 

                The pub stank of stale sweat, tobacco smoke and ale. The voices of old and young drinkers swept through the room like a noisy wave that never dies down. In the corner, behind part of the wall that jutted out, John Constantine stubbed his cigarette out in the almost-full ashtray. As soon as his fingers left the used cigarette, he fumbled into his pocket, pulled out a slightly crushed packet of Silk Cut, pulled one out slowly, placed the filter in between his dry lips, and struck a match. He raised his eyes slightly to the woman sitting on the other side of the table to him, then brought the flame to the end of the cigarette.

                "So, you from around here?" the woman asked, resting her elbow on the table, looking into John's eyes. He took the cigarette between his fore and middle fingers, took the cigarette from his lips, and breathed out a cloud of light-grey smoke. He looked back at the woman.

                She was dressed up, like she was supposed to be going to a club or a party, but got sidetracked. She had long, dark brown hair, an almost perfect complexion and bright green eyes. John smiled very slightly at the question. He didn't care how he looked. His short, spiky blonde hair drooped downwards at their tips. He hadn't shaved for a few days, and felt the stubble scratching his thumb and forefinger as he rubbed them along his chin. He took another drag of his cigarette before answering her question.

                "Used to be." He replied in a deep, fairly gravely London accent. "I've been away from this place for a fair ol' time, though." The woman smiled shyly at him.

                "Where have you been?" she asked, raising her glass of wine to her lips as she spoke.

                "America." Came the reply. John wondered whether or not he should tell the woman what he'd been doing there. He'd been back in England for nearly two weeks, and this was the first half-decent conversation he'd had with anyone. He wasn't keen on the idea of cutting it short by declaring he'd been put in a prison under a murder charge.

                "What's it like?" asked the woman. _Keen on the questions, aren't ya, love?_ John thought.

                "It's not all it's cracked up to be, really." He told her, sighing slightly as he spoke. "So, what's your name?"

                "Katie." She replied, her smile seeming to grow slightly. "What's yours?"

                "John." He reached into his pocket again, and pulled the packet of Silk Cut out. "Smoke?" The woman shook her head.

                "No thank you. Those things'll kill ya."

                _Don't I know it…_

                The words reminded John of how he'd been diagnosed with terminal lung cancer, and had to cheat death. Crafty, but costly. The Unholy Trinity, Balthazar, Beelzebub and Lucifer, would no doubt be thinking of ways to avoid a war which would end up with all three being slaves to God. And it's not wise to mess around with the darkest forces in creation.

                John nodded, and put the packet back into his pocket. Katie leaned towards him slightly. "So, are you, like, seeing anyone?" John looked around.

                "I see lots of people. Wherever you go, people are always there." He replied, trying to avoid the question. The last girl he was involved with died because of him, and the others didn't exactly leave with a smile on their face.

                "I mean like a girlfriend." Katie stated.

                "I can't go down that road again, love, sorry to disappoint ya." John told her, breaking eye contact by looking down at his half empty pint glass. "Too much pain's come from that road." Katie looked down slightly.

                "Bad past?" she asked. 

_Christ, she's still talking._

"You could say that." John replied, and took a mouthful of his beer. "Another way to say it would be that I got my last girlfriend killed." Katie looked up at him again, shocked.

"What do you mean?" she asked, her voice wavering slightly.

"I did some stupid things. As a result, she got the penalty instead of me." _Because I can't die yet, else the bastards down below are in deep shit._

"And you blame yourself?" Katie asked, almost sweetly, as if she understood what he'd gone through. John looked at her again.

"It was my fault, so yeah." There was silence. Suddenly, two similar aged women stood next to Katie, looking down at her.

"Come on, Katie, we gotta get going to the club if we want to get in early." The taller one said. They were both dressed up, like Katie was. She nodded, then faced John again.

"Time to go." She told him. He nodded, and took another drag from his cigarette. "It's been nice talking to you, John." She added. He looked up at her as she rose to her feet.

"You too, Katie." John replied. She smiled, then followed her two friends as they left the pub. John leaned back against the wall, rubbed his face and sighed.

It was past midnight when John returned to his flat. He stumbled slightly up the stairs, and read the numbers on the doors to find his room. Eventually, he found it, and slotted his key into the lock. He twisted it, and there was a dull, metallic _clunk_ sound. He pushed at the door as he pushed the handle down, and almost fell through the doorway.

He was tired, and wanted to sleep. The only way he could achieve this now was by spending most of the night in the local pub until closing time. It got so boring in there, that he found it hard to stay awake by the time he returned.

John pulled out his packet of cigarettes, laid them on the table, and pulled his long trench-coat off. He lifted it up and hung it on the coat-hook. Then he picked up his cigarettes, and fell onto the couch. He reached for his remote, and pressed the standby button. A habit he'd picked up from living in America for a while. The television flickered to life, and the sound of car tires screeching as they skid across roads in some over-blown car chase sequence in some action film filled the room. John took another cigarette from the packet, and lit it. The room was illuminated solely by the television screen, and John lay on the sofa, his eyes facing in the direction of the screen, but not concentrating on the events occurring.

John reached out for the ashtray on the floor in front of him, and dragged it closer. He flicked the ash from the end of the burning cigarette, and brought it back to his lips. He sighed, the memories of his dark and shady past haunting him. He longed for them to stop. He couldn't help what had happened in the past. He'd done a hell of a lot of stupid things in his life. But he'd also done a lot of good, too. But those memories rarely came to him.

He finished his cigarette, and stubbed it out onto the base of the metal, worn-out ashtray. He squirmed around on the couch, trying to find a comfortable position, and closed his eyes. He started to drift to sleep to the sound of two men arguing about some terrorist situation.

John groaned, which then turned into a hoarse cough. He brought his hand to his face and felt the stubble covering his jaw, then sat up. He stretched his arms upwards, listening to the cracking sounds they made, then picked up the packet of cigarettes. He pulled one out, and threw the empty packet to the floor. He lit the cigarette, took one drag into his lungs, and calmly breathed it out again. 

"What do you want?" he asked, not bothering to look up. He knew who it was anyway.

The ghostly figure of Richard Fermin, or 'Lucky' as he was once known, stood silently before him. John heard the faint scratching of pencil lead against paper. The only way Lucky could communicate, after he'd blown it off in a public restroom in front of John, who then was promptly sentenced for his murder. Thirty-five years. Only he'd been let out by some smart-arsed FBI agent after John managed to bring the prison down and take control. John liked to leave with a good exit.

"So, you my Guardian Angel or somethin'?" John mocked as Lucky finished writing the message. "My fairy fuckin' godmother?" John flicked the small layer of ash from the end of his burning cigarette into the ashtray on the floor, and leant towards Lucky's pad of paper to se what he's scrawled on it.

'Apocalypse'

"The man upstairs send you to tell me that?" John asked, smiling as if amused, but instead he was pissed off. "Fuck off. I'm in no mood for bloody jokes today." Lucky scrawled another word down.

'Antichrist'

John rolled his eyes back in his head, sighed, and stood up. He looked at what was left of Lucky, then started walking towards the bathroom door. "No need for name calling." He muttered at him, before closing the door behind him.

As John walked out of the bathroom, he saw Lucky still standing where he had been before. "You're getting on my fuckin' tits now, mate." He told him. "Leave me alone." Lucky had written a new message.

'Please Help'

"For Christ's sake!" John cursed. "Go back to whoever sent ya here, and tell 'im to send someone who can fuckin' talk. Then I'll consider it." He sat down on his couch again, and raised the cigarette to his lips.

"Quite a mouth on you, ain't there?" Brendan Finn stated, his thick Irish accent startling John, causing him to drop the remaining half of his cigarette on the floor between his bare feet.

"Jesus Christ," John muttered, picking up the cigarette and continuing to smoke it. "How's it going, mate?"

"Aye, just peachy up there." Brendan replied, cheery as the night he died. It was thanks to John he'd been able to go to Heaven. One of the few things John could be proud of. "But the big man himself's getting worried. Whole end of the world thing."

"Yeah, I can imagine. Overpopulation worries?" John asked, smiling. It was good to talk to an old friend.

"That's the one." Brendan nodded, almost wildly. "And The Almighty himself wants you to deal with it."

"Lucky ol' me." John muttered. "But how the bloody hell do I stop The Antichrist?"

"Tell ya the truth, mate, I don't know. But hey, you're a smart lad; you'll figure it out, aye?" Brendan replied, still smiling. "Anyway, me time's up, gotta return upstairs. You be careful, John. Save these people down here for me, will ya?"

"Tell you what. I stop the fucker, you save me a seat at Heaven's Bar. How's that?" John told him. Brendan laughed out loud, and nodded again.

"Sure thing!" he answered. Suddenly, he was engulfed in a bright white light, and John shielded his eyes from its intensity. When he looked at the same spot moments later, Brendan was gone. He was alone in his apartment again.

"The usual please, squire." John said as he stood in front of the newsagent counter. The large, burly, white haired African man nodded, then passed him a packet of twenty Silk Cut cigarettes. "Cheers." He muttered as he handed the man a crumpled fiver. The shopkeeper opened the cash register, fumbled around inside it, and handed John his change. John pocketed the money and left the shop. As soon as he set foot outside, he peeled off the plastic wrapping and let it float down the street as the breeze caught it. John pulled one cigarette from the packet and lit it.

"Dangerous habit, that." Katie said, walking up beside him. This startled John, almost making him drop his cigarette for the second time that morning. "Sorry. Didn't mean to startle ya."

"It's alright, love. Just a bit on edge, is all." John told her. He surprised himself. He was never normally this polite around people. Why was he with this woman?

"I know the feeling." Katie replied, sounding a little upset. "Bad night?"

John looked at her, but before he could reply, he noticed the small cut above her right eye. It was slightly swollen, but the bruising had been covered up as best as possible with make-up. "Apparently not as bad as yours." He stated. "What happened?" Katie looked down at her feet. She clearly didn't want to talk about it. "If you don't wanna tell me, I understand. But I may be able to help."

"I doubt it." Katie muttered, taking a deep breath before she spoke.

"Try me." John replied calmly. Katie looked up, and he saw her eyes glisten more than usual. She was holding back tears.

"I was raped." She told him. There was a deathly silence. John didn't know what to say, but he could feel a rage inside him growing intensely. He forgot about his little meeting with Brendan hours before. Now all he could think of was Katie's pain, and wanted more than anything to find the bastard who did this to her.

"You want a cuppa coffee?" he asked her. Discussing matters like this outside a newsagent seemed somewhat an unpleasant idea. Katie silently nodded, and John flicked the ash from his burning cigarette onto the floor. He started walking in the direction of the café he sometimes went to when he wanted to think his problems, of which he had plenty, over.

"So," John started, lighting another cigarette. "You know who it was?" Katie looked up from her half-empty cup of warm coffee at John.

"No." she answered, then sighed. "He seemed like a nice guy. We met at the bar of the club, started making small talk, stuff like that. After a few drinks, he suggested going for a walk. I agreed to go, I mean, I haven't had any form of relationship for so long now. We started kissing, then he tried to go further. When I tried to stop him, he…" She trailed off at the end, trying not to break into tears in the middle of a café. John could guess how her story was going to end, anyway.

"Would you be able to point him out if you saw him again?" he asked, then sipped his cooled down coffee. It was warm now, and he resisted the urge to drink the whole thing in one go.

"What do you mean?" Katie asked, surprised by his question.

"Take me to this club. Tonight. Show me this guy. I'll take it from there." John explained.

"I can't." Katie replied. "I don't want you getting into trouble over me. I mean, we only met last night." John shrugged, breathing out a cloud of smoke.

"Type of trouble I've been in before, this'll be more like a walk in the park." He reassured her. "So, what do ya say?"

The _thud, thud, thud, of the music pounded against John's brain irritatingly._

_Dance Music. If I didn't know any better, I'd not believe in God if an abomination like this could ever enter the music world. What a load of shit._

"You see him?" John asked Katie, raising his voice over the music. She was dressed similarly to the previous night, whilst John still wore his dirty-green jumper, and dark, mustard-like trench coat. He looked out of place, but he couldn't care less.

"Over there. At the bar." Katie replied, nodding in the direction of the man. "Blue shirt, black hair. See him?"

"Uh-huh. Wait here." John replied. Katie nodded, and took a sip of her drink. John pushed his way past the groups of teenaged drunkards, all the while not taking his eyes off the man.

The man paid the barman for his drink, and started to turn around. John realised this was his best chance.

"Woah! Sorry, mate." John bellowed in a drunken state as he fell into him. The impact almost made the man pour his drink over himself.

"Watch it, arsehole." He muttered, pushing John back angrily, then walking away. As he vanished into the crowd, John smiled to himself slightly. He turned to the barman.

"Pint of Stella, mate." He said, no longer in a drunken manner. The barman nodded, and picked up a clean pint glass. John opened up the man's wallet, and pulled out a ten pound note.

John carefully made his way back to Katie, avoiding spilling a drop of his pint. "What happened?" she asked. John silently pulled the man's wallet out of his pocket. "You stole his wallet?" she asked. She didn't know what John would do, but she certainly didn't expect him to do anything like that.

"My work ain't done yet." John replied. Suddenly, they heard someone fall to the ground, and the surrounding people either gasp or cheer. Katie spun around to look, whilst John casually took a mouthful of his pint.

The man was lying on the floor, holding his bleeding nose. Above him towered a large, muscle-bound thug, clenching his fist. "Touch my arse again, you fuckin' faggot, I'll rip your fuckin' arms off." He warned him in a deep, gravely voice before walking away to the bar. The people around the falling man started to laugh and jeer at him, and he crawled away from the embarrassing scene.

Katie looked back to John, who was chuckling slightly. "How did you…?" she started.

"Magic, love." John replied. He lit the cigarette that he'd placed between his lips during the scenario. "Magic." Katie gave him a puzzled look. "C'mon. Let's get outta this dump."

John walked into his apartment room, followed by Katie. He hung the trench coat on the coat rack, and then took Katie's jacket. He hung it beside his. "Welcome to my humble home." He joked. "Ain't much, I'm afraid."

"Better than mine." Katie replied. John smiled, then walked into the living room. He flicked on the television, and sat on the couch. Katie sat beside him.

"Don't think there's much on at this time of night." John stated, flicking through the four channels he had. He didn't want to fork out money on digital channels. Not when that same money could buy him cigarettes and alcohol, as well as food and drink.

"Never is." Katie replied. "And thank you." She added. John looked at her. "Nobody's ever done something like that for me."

"I couldn't sit back and do nothing." John replied, rubbing his face. It's been a while since I've done anything for someone else."

Katie took John's hand in her own, and they looked into each other's eyes. Moments later, their lips met, and all their problems vanished in an instant.

The man who had raped the girl the night before tried to back away from the large man in front of him. However, he was unable to. Two other strong men held his arms to prevent his escape. "So," the large man boomed, smiling in a twisted way. "You like men, huh?" The man was too afraid to give any kind of verbal reply. The other two men ripped his jeans down to his ankles. It was now his turn to get raped. But he knew that he wouldn't be as lucky as the girl. He wouldn't escape with his life.


	2. Breaking Point

**Part 2 – Breaking Point**

                John woke up slowly, and yawned as he sat up. He looked to his side to see Kate still sleeping. He smiled to himself, and stepped out of the bed. He stretched his arms, causing his joints to crack slightly, and he sighed. He picked up a packet of cigarettes and took one out. He placed it in his mouth, and picked up the lighter next to the packet. He raised it to the end of the cigarette, then paused. He looked back to Katie, then at the packet. He put the lighter down again, and took the cigarette out of his mouth. He dropped it into the ashtray, and stood up. He put his jeans on, and walked out of the room.

                Kelvin's alarm clock buzzed loudly, waking him up. He groaned, and reached his hand out blindly towards the source of the irritating noise, desperate to cease it as quickly as possible. After a few seconds fumbling around for the button, he found it. The noise stopped, and the room was quiet again.

                "Come on, Kelvin," his mother called to him from downstairs. "You'll be late for school!"

                "What a shame that would be." Kelvin muttered to himself, and slowly got out of bed. He looked down at his bare arms and rubbed the scars that covered his wrists. He felt tears well up in his eyes, but stopped himself from crying, and reached down for his uniform.

                "Morning, sweetie." His mum said as he walked into the kitchen.

                "Morning." Kelvin replied quietly. He took a box of cereal, and poured some into the bowl already on the table. He put the box down, and walked over to the fridge to get some milk. There was none in there. "We're out of milk, mum." He stated, closing the door. His mother opened the door again, and looked inside.

                "Damn…" she muttered. "I'll make you some toast."

                "Thanks." Kelvin replied.

                "You get ready for school." She stated, taking two pieces of bread from the bread-bin. Kelvin nodded, and walked back to his room.

                Katie woke up to the smell of frying bacon. She sat up and looked around. John wasn't in the room. "John?" she called out, still tired. The door opened, and John poked his head around the door. "Ahhh. Good morning." She said, rubbing her eyes.

                "Morning." John replied. "You like bacon?"

                "Who doesn't?" she answered, laughing slightly. John smiled, and walked back into his kitchen. Katie sat up, and reached down beside the bed for her clothes. She put them on, and followed John into the kitchen. He was standing in front of the frying pan, poking at the rashers of bacon sizzling in the fat. "Smells good." She said, walking up behind him. John turned his head as Katie wrapped her arms around his waist. She kissed him on the cheek.

                "I haven't used this thing for a while." John told her. "Normally I just eat crisps or toast, or if I'm feeling adventurous, a Pot Noodle." Katie laughed.

                "What about takeaways?" she asked. John shrugged.

                "Yeah, but they're already made for you." He told her.

                "So are crisps." Katie reminded him. John laughed, as did she.

                "Good point." He said. He turned over the bacon, then turned around to put his arms around Katie. He kissed her. "I'm sorry if I was a bit of an arsehole before." He stated. Katie gave him a puzzled look. "You know, at the pub the other night."

                "Don't worry about that." Katie told him. "I'd only just met you." They kissed again, then John turned back to the bacon to check on it. He reached over to the bread, and took four slices out. He walked over to the fridge, took the butter out, and placed it beside the bread. Katie walked over to the table nearby and sat down as John buttered the bread. "So, what do we do now?" she asked.

                "Have breakfast." John replied, and brought over two bacon sandwiches.

                "No, I was talking about us." She said. John sat down and looked at her. "Are we an item, or was last night…"

                "We're an item, if that's what you want." John told her, stopping her before she could finish her sentence.

                "Is that what you want?" Katie asked. John nodded. "It's what I want, too." She added. They both smiled at each other.

                "C'mon. Eat up before it gets cold." John said, nodding at her sandwich. Katie laughed, and took a bite of it.

                A screwed up ball of paper hit Kelvin in the back of the head as he sat alone on the bus to school. He turned around to see Gary heading the small gang sat up the back of the bus laughing and pointing at him. Kelvin turned his head and tried to ignore them. The same thing happened every day to him. He had no friends, and that didn't bother him as much any more. He just wanted everyone to stop tormenting him, just because his father had left him and his mother when he was a baby to live with a twenty year old woman in America. He was fifteen now, and on the verge of breaking. He wished for Gary and his friends to die horrible deaths, but there was nothing he could do about them. His mother didn't understand, and didn't know about them. He wasn't going to tell her, either. She wouldn't understand.

                Kelvin got off the bus outside school, and started walking towards the entrance. He suddenly felt something ram into his back, and he fell forward onto his face. He picked himself up, and looked at his wrists. They were grazed from the fall, and he heard Gary and his gang laughing again. "Enjoy your trip?" Gary asked, wearing a big grin on his face. Kelvin wanted to wipe the smile of his cocky mug, but instead walked inside the school building. Gary laughed some more, when he saw a teacher walking towards him. He stopped laughing, and he and his friends followed Kelvin into school.

                Katie had just left to go to work, leaving John alone in his apartment. He sat in front of his television, and turned it on. The television flickered to life, and John reached over to his packet of cigarettes, the craving becoming unbearable. He'd decided not to smoke in front of Katie, but not to give up completely. There was a News broadcast on, and John decided to watch it. There was a story about a murder at a local club, and John recognised the victim. It was the man that had raped Katie. "Scumbag had it coming…" he stated, about to light his cigarette. He paused again, and decided to put the cigarette back in the packet. He changed the channel over to BBC2, and considered watching four grown men prance about in colourful alien costumes with a vacuum cleaner, but quickly chose to watch a chat show instead. Not that he was interested in it, he just felt more comfortable with some background noise.

                Boredom set in, and John stood up. He wanted to smoke, but fought the craving. He walked into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of orange juice. He poured the cold liquid down his throat, and placed the glass next to the sink. He walked around his apartment, trying to think of things to do. He decided that he may as well rent out a video until Katie finished working, because he told her he'd meet her after her shift was over. He walked over to where his trench-coat was hanging, and put it on. He placed his cigarettes and a lighter in his pocket, just in case, and switched the television onto standby. He picked up his keys, and walked over to the door. He stopped as he reached the door, then looked back at the television. He walked over to it, and switched it off properly. "That's better." He said to himself, then left his apartment.

                Kelvin was walking down the corridor, thinking to himself, when Gary stood in his way. Kelvin looked at him briefly, then moved to the side to walk around him. Gary moved over to block his path again. "In a hurry, freak?" he asked, pushing Kelvin back. Kelvin looked up at him again, resisting the urge to retaliate, knowing full well that Gary's friends were standing behind him. One of them pushed him forward towards Gary. "Hey, watch were you're going, arsehole!" Gary stated, punching Kelvin in the stomach. The blow winded him, and he held his stomach to help stop the pain hurting as much.

                "What do you want?" Kelvin asked, standing up again, but trying not to look imposing. Gary smiled.

                "We just wanna know why you're such a twat, that's all." He said. His friends laughed, and Kelvin looked at the ground beside Gary's feet. "Well?" Gary asked.

                "Leave me alone." Kelvin muttered. He felt his arms and legs starting to shake.

                "Pardon?" Gary asked, taking a few steps towards him. "Didn't quite hear ya."

                "Leave me alone." Kelvin repeated. Gary and his friends laughed again.

                "What's the matter?" Gary asked. "If only your dad was here to help you." Kelvin looked at Gary, suddenly full of anger. "Guess he couldn't stand being near you, either." Kelvin clenched his fist tightly. "Wonder how long it'll be before your mum decides to go, as well." Kelvin swung his fist at Gary's face, and sent him flying backwards to the ground.

                Gary's friends tried to grab Kelvin as he jumped over Gary, but missed him. Gary jumped up. "Get him!" he shouted, holding his bleeding nose. They all chased Kelvin as he ran out of the school entrance, and down the road.

                John walked down the road towards the video rental shop, and saw a young boy running across the road and down an alleyway. He started to walk over to the alley as a group of six other boys followed the first boy. John realised what was going on, remembering his own childhood. He ran over to the alley, and peered around the corner. It was a dead end, and the lone boy stood in front of the wall. Another boy started walking towards him. "You're in for it now, freak." He said, wiping the blood from his nose. John walked down the alleyway.

                "Just fuck off!" the lone boy shouted at the bleeding one as he walked closer. John pushed past the crowd of other boys, who started to back off as they saw the tall, trench-coat wearing man head towards the leading boy.

                "Look out!" one of the called. The one with the bleeding nose turned around to see John standing in front of him. He looked up at him.

                "You heard him." John said in a deep, rough voice, put on to put more fear into the boys than his normal voice would. He took another step towards the boy, who backed up. "Fuck off." He stated. The boy turned around to look at Kelvin, frowned, then ran back out of the alley with his cronies. John watched them flee, then looked at the lone boy. "What's you're name?" he asked.

                "Kelvin." Came the reply, and the boy walked past him. "I could have handled it myself." He stated. John followed him.

                "One against six?" he asked. "Don't kid yourself." Kelvin continued to walk quickly.

                "They'll only be more pissed off." He said. "And you won't be there next time."

                "No, but those punks are cowards. If you stand up to them, they'll soon leave you alone." John explained. "You give that dickhead the nosebleed?" Kelvin nodded silently. "Not bad going. But violence isn't always the answer."

                "It's their answer." Kelvin replied.

                "But you're not one of them." John told him.

                "So they keep telling me."

                "You're better than they are." Kelvin looked up at John, feeling patronised. "Just don't let them get to you. And only use violence in self defence."

                "Thanks for the advice, Obi-Wan." Kelvin said sarcastically. "It doesn't work. Tried it. I can handle it." John looked down and saw scarring on the boy's wrist.

                "Doesn't look like it." He said, pointing at the boy's wrist. "You do that?" Kelvin looked at the scars, then stopped walking.

                "Look, I can handle it!" he shouted, losing his temper. "Just mind your own fucking business!" Kelvin suddenly broke into a run, and vanished around the corner. John was about to follow him, then decided not to. He doubted he could get through to the boy, but still felt pity for him. He turned around, and walked towards the video shop.

                Kelvin walked into his house, and dropped his bag to the floor. He pulled his jacket off, hung it up, and ran upstairs to his room. He closed the door and lay on his bed, and started to cry. His mother opened the door and walked over to him. "I heard about what happened at school." She told him. She sat down beside Kelvin, and ran her fingers through his hair. "Don't worry, I'm not mad." She told him. Kelvin sat up, and rubbed his eyes. His mother hugged him, and he did the same to her.

                "They won't leave me alone." He said, trying not to cry again.

                "People like that don't get anywhere in life, sweetie." She told him. "Trust me."

                "I know, but it doesn't stop them from bullying me." Kelvin moaned.

                "Don't worry. I'm gonna call this Gary's mum later and make sure she knows what a bastard she's bringing up." His mother stated. She let go of Kelvin. "Don't let them get to you like this." She added. Kelvin nodded quietly, and she smiled at him lovingly. She stood up, and walked out of the room, closing the door behind her. Kelvin lay down on his bed again, and looked out of the window into the cloudy sky.

                John waited outside the doctors' surgery for Katie. She worked as a secretary at the local surgery during the week. John wondered about getting a real job himself, instead of doing odd jobs for people whenever he could in order to pay off the rent, and the cost of cigarettes.

                "Hey," Katie said, breaking John out of his daydream. She walked down the steps towards him, and he smiled at her. He hugged her, and they kissed. "Had a good day?" she asked.

                "Rented out Mortal Kombat: Annihilation. Not a patch on the first one." He stated. Katie laughed. "And Rayden's a different actor. I was gonna let it rest at that, but they killed off Johnny Cage. Makes my blood boil."

                "Oh dear." Katie stated, still laughing. "They'd better watch out." John smiled, then his expression changed to a sombre one.

                "I also stopped a boy getting the shit beaten out of him in an alley." He added. Katie stopped laughing, and looked at him.

                "Jesus." She said. John shrugged.

                "But it's ok now." He said. "So, what shall we do?" he asked.

                "We could go back to my place tonight, so then I can treat you to breakfast in the morning this time." Katie answered. John smiled.

                "That sounds great." He said, and took her hand in his. "Lead the way."

                Kelvin woke up suddenly, and looked at his clock. It was almost midnight. He sighed, and lay down again. "You want to kill them, don't you?" a voice asked. He shot up, and stared into the dark corner. The window was open.

                "Who's there?" he asked, not sure if he was still dreaming.

                "Don't worry about that." The voice said. "I want to help you."

                John walked Katie to the surgery before her shift started. "Thanks for breakfast." He said.

                "I didn't know how else to top a bacon sandwich." Katie told him.

                "A bacon and egg sandwich just manages to beat it." John stated, smiling. "But only just." Katie laughed as the reached the surgery. "Shall I meet you here again later?" he asked. Katie nodded.

                "Sure. Around six I get off." She told him. "Then we'll decide what to do tonight." John nodded.

                "Ok. Around six, then." He stated. Katie nodded, and they kissed again. "See ya later." He said.

                "Yup, see ya." Katie replied, and walked into the surgery. John watched her disappear into the building, then walked down the road. He reached the school, when something caught his eye. A crowd of children were running out of the school, screaming. 

                "What the fuck?" John muttered, and ran over to the entrance. A fire bell was ringing out, and John got the impression that this wasn't a drill. He saw a teacher running with the children, and he ran towards her. "Hey, you!" he called. "I'm with the police!" he lied.

                "In there!" she called to him, leading the children away from the school. John ran inside the entrance, and down the nearly abandoned corridor. He could her shouting coming from a nearby classroom. He ran over to it, and looked through the window.

                "Christ…" he muttered, and slowly opened the door. Kelvin pointed the revolver at him, his eyes burning with rage. John stared at him, and raised his hands. "It's me." He said. "Don't hurt anyone."

                "Too late." Kelvin stated. John looked down to the ground near Kelvin and saw the kid from the alley lying on the ground. Blood was around him. The other children cowered in the corners of the room, except the dead kid and the teacher, who was lying on the other side of the room with a bullet hole in his shoulder.

                "Drop the gun, Kelvin." John said calmly. "Nobody else has to get hurt."

                "Don't talk to me like you know who I am!" Kelvin yelled, still aiming at John. "You don't know what it's like to be me!"

                "No, I don't." John told him. "But I was once like you."

                "Oh, here we go. Get the violins out." Kelvin mocked. "That story's so clichéd, it's sickening."

                "It's a true story, though." John told him. "I didn't shoot any of my classmates, so it's not entirely the same, but I still went through the same things as you."

                "If you don't wanna end up like Gary here, you better piss off, mate." Kelvin warned.

                "Why are you doing this, Kelvin?" John asked, ignoring the threat.

                "What's it to ya?" came the reply.

                "You don't seem like the same kid whose arse I avoided getting kicked yesterday." John said. "Why is that? And where did you get a gun, more importantly."

                "He told me to." Kelvin replied, his aim lowering to the floor, like he had been possessed, but suddenly the spell was broken. He looked over to the window looking out over the school field, as did John. A shadowy man was watching them. He had short, black hair, and his eyes made John's heart miss a beat. The man smirked at him, when suddenly John almost jumped out of his skin when he heard a gunshot ring out. He looked over to Kelvin, who was no longer standing. Brain and blood were slapped against the whiteboard, and John closed his eyes.

                "You can't save everybody." Katie told him as he sat on the bench. John flicked the ash from his burning cigarette onto the ground, and took another drag. Another seven cigarette butts littered the ground in front of him. "It wasn't your fault."

                "I could have stopped him yesterday." John stated. "If I'd followed him when he ran off, I could have helped him then. Then maybe two kids wouldn't be lying on a coroner's table right now." Katie took his free hand and gripped it tightly.

                "There was nothing you could have done." She insisted.

                "It doesn't seem that way." John replied. Suddenly, the image of the man's face appeared in his mind. He didn't recognise him, but then something else crept into his head. Lucky's note from the other night.

                'Antichrist'


	3. A Little Help From My Friends

**Part 3 – A Little Help From My Friends**

                "John, I don't understand," Katie pleaded as John pulled his wallet out from his pocket. He opened it up, and pulled out five twenty pound notes, and handed it towards her. "I can't take this!" John grabbed her hand and forced the money into her palm.

                "Look, I can't explain why you have to go, but believe me you'd be safer if you did." He told her. He picked up the cigarette packet from the table.

                "That kid shooting himself was not your fault!" Katie stated, still holding the money, not even bothering to look at it. "You can't shut me out now, you need help getting through this!" John lit his cigarette, and gazed at her through the thin stream of smoke rising through the air centimetres in front of his face.

                "I've seen kids die before." He told her, bluntly. "Innocent men, women, children and animals have had to die because of my actions in life. I'm not adding you to the list." Katie was speechless, not wanting to believe what John had just told her. "I have to sort something out. Then things'll be safer around here."

                "Why won't you tell me why things aren't safe at the minute?" Katie asked, starting to get annoyed. "What aren't you telling me?"

                "I'm sorry, but I can't tell you!" John shouted, losing his temper. "You wouldn't understand!"

                "Try me!" Katie yelled back.

                "Is the answer really worth dieing for?" John asked her, lowering his voice.

                "Who's gonna kill me if I find out?" she asked. John was about to shout at her again, but stopped himself. He took a drag from his cigarette and sat on the sofa. Katie stayed where she was.

                "There's somebody new in town. Somebody who reckons himself to be a bad motherfucker, and has already caused at least two kids to die."

                "The ones at the school?" John nodded.

                "Yeah. And I'm supposed to be the only one who can stop him." Katie stood in silence for a few moments as John smoked some more of his cigarette.  "And this bag of shit probably knows I'm on to him, and if he finds out about you, you're fucked."

                "Christ…" Katie muttered, swaying slightly. "How are you going to stop him?" John shrugged, breathing out another cloud of smoke.

                "I'm working on it." He told her, grimly. "But you need to go home, pack your things, and get out of London for a while. I'll call you when I clean this mess up." Katie stared at him, then nodded reluctantly. She was about to cry. John stubbed the cigarette out and walked over to her.

                "I will call you. I promise." He told her. She nodded, then kissed him.

                "You be careful." She told him. He smiled slightly.

                "I've been in worse shit than this before." He told her. "Go on, get outta here. And don't talk to strangers." Katie laughed slightly.

                "Ok." She said. "I'll hear from ya soon, yeah?"

                "Yeah," John told her. In his head, he was doubtful. He was getting old, he knew that. _Not in your prime anymore, John, ol' boy._

                "Ok." Katie kissed him again, then opened the door. She stood in the doorway for a moment, then closed the door behind her. John listened to her footsteps disappear down the corridor, then closed his eyes. He had to think of something fast. _But first…_

                John picked up the glass of water on the table beside the sofa, and hurled it at the wall. It shattered on impact, sending tiny shards of glass and water across the wall and floor. _That's better_ he thought, and lit another cigarette.

                "Well, now this _is_ a surprise!" Clarice stated in her usual upper-class manner. John smiled slightly as he walked over to her table in the Knightsbridge Tea Room. He pulled out the chair, and sat down heavily on it. "What seems to be the problem, then? Another dead girlfriend?" John lit up a cigarette.

                "No. Something much bigger than that." John stated. Clarice leant forward in her chair, resting her elbows on the table. John looked up from the ashtray to see Clarice's withering form. A shell of a human, at first sight. Her skin seemed to have stretched tightly over her bones, creating the feeling you were looking at a walking, talking skeleton.

                "Really?" Clarice asked, in a slightly higher tone of voice, sounding interested. "How much bigger?"

                "About as big as it gets." John replied. He looked around to make sure nobody else was listening. Satisfied that there were no eavesdroppers, John leaned closer to Clarice. "The Antichrist is here in London, and it's doing some nasty shit."

                "Well now," Clarice said, leaning back. "That _does_ sound interesting." John leaned back as well. He blew a cloud of smoke to his side.

                "And God himself wants me to take the bastard down." He added, almost proud, but at the same time pissed off with the hassle.

                "Can't imagine why." Clarice stated, clearly and bluntly. John would have been hurt by the comment, had he not thought it already. "So why are you here?"

                "You're like me. Connections to the underworld, as it were. You heard any rumblings? Any ripples in the piss that is London? Anything at all that'll help me find out where to find this wanker." John told her, stopping briefly halfway through to inhale another puff of smoke, and exhaling it at the end of the last sentence.

                "If what you're saying is true, John, then this Antichrist is working ex_tremely quietly. I haven't heard a single thing about him." Clarice said, staring at John with the same grim smile as always. "Sorry, John." John sighed, stubbing his cigarette out in the ashtray._

                "If you hear anything, give us a bell, yeah?" he said to her, standing up. Clarice nodded. "Alright, then. Gonna go see some other people. See if they've heard anything."

                "Why bother?" Clarice asked. "If I haven't heard anything at all about the matter, then I sincerely doubt anybody else would have." John turned to look at her.

                "This guy's more like me. A down-and-out." He said, then started to walk away.

                "Hey, John," Clarice called. John stopped, but didn't turn. "Try not to bugger this up. And try not to let anyone die." She requested. John smiled to himself.

                "I'll try."

                _London__. Capital city of __England__. Home, or at least one of the homes, to the Royal Family. Arguably the most powerful humans on the planet. Not counting most other world leaders. People think of __London__ and see images of sunshine beaming down on __Trafalgar Square__, or the guards outside __Buckingham__Palace__, or the classic black minicab. Peaceful images for the tourism lifestyle. But _London___'s not the popular, charming, busy place people think. As soon as the sun disappears, the darkness of the city takes its place. Like a swarm of insects, drunks and pill-heads and crack addicts, thieves and murderers and rapists all descend upon the streets like a plague._

_                A young girl sips on her drink whilst holding a cigarette in her free hand, laughing and joking with her mates. She doesn't notice the man sitting in the corner, half a pint of ale in his hand, watching her every move intently, planning on how to get her attention. Frustration takes over, and, unknowingly, the girl will notice the man after she leaves the pub to walk home._

_                A whore lays bleeding in the gutter, her stomach open, her guts sitting over the drain cover, still warm. Some ex-client's idea to abort the kid the prostitute was carrying in order to stop his wife of twenty years from finding out about his deception._

_                A group of drunk thugs finish hammering seven shades of shit out of the unfortunate black boy who only wanted to meet his father at the bus station, leaving him broken and bloodied, in a heap outside the gates to the local church. The dead lay nearby, making bets on whether they'll have more company shortly._

_                I walk through the streets of __London__ in darkness. I know what lies out here, what can happen to innocent people who've never done a thing wrong in their lives. Luckily, I'm not innocent, and I've got a few tricks up me sleeve and a rabbit in me pocket to keep me alive for another day. All the shit that goes on in the most powerful city in __England__, and I don't see any eyes watching it. Nobody gives enough of a shit to do a bloody thing about it. That's why, one day soon, this whole fuckin' city is gonna swallow itself up into Hell, and I'll be standing on the side of it, saying "Told you so"._

                John walked through the shadows, a trail of smoke left in the air behind him from his cigarette. He flicked the ash to the dirty, grim floor just next to a young boy coming down after a strong hit of cocaine. The boy looked up at John with expressionless, lifeless eyes, as if to say "Are you here to take me down to hell?"

                Ignoring the boy, John walked up the concrete stairs of the building, past more drug addicts and drunks. Some were like the boy, staring at John in wonder, some were asleep, maybe even dead. One girl was sitting in the doorway to a room crying like an infant. John continued up the stairs to Darren's floor.

                As he got closer to the door leading into the short hallway, John could smell the shit-like stench of death. Taking another drag of his cigarette, John pushed at the door, and almost choked on the smoke he was holding in his lungs by the sight in front of him. Bodies lay about the hallway, motionless, but charred, like they'd been stuck in a well heated oven for a few days. _Fuck me… John jumped over two still-steaming corpses towards Darren's room, only to see his old magician friend the same way as the others. Next to him lay the smouldering body of his infant son. John looked at the bodies, then dropped his cigarette to the floor. He crushed it with the front of his shoe, and pulled another from his pocket._

                "Nasty habit, that." Came a voice, almost startling John, had he not already guessed that the culprit of this little massacre was still in the building. John lit his cigarette, and turned around. In the shadows of the far corner of the opposite room stood a tall man. John couldn't make out any of his features until he too lit a cigarette. It was the man from the school field, who had told Kelvin to go gun-crazy the previous day. The Antichrist himself.

                "So, you're the prick I'm supposed to stop, eh?" John remarked, unphased by the presence of such a powerful and dangerous entity. He'd seen it all before. The Antichrist smiled wickedly at him, seeming to enjoy being in the presence of John Constantine, even if the feeling wasn't mutual.

                "John Constantine. Scouser scumbag who also happens to be a mage. You've been causing quite a storm down below, you know?" he told him as John glared into his cold, empty eyes. "You're not only the most hated man in your realm, but mine as well. Bollocks up this job, and you'll have a hat trick with Heaven pissed at you as well."

                "Lovely jubbly." John replied. "So, you taking on a British personality, are ya? 'Bollocks' and everything?"

                "This ain't the cinema, John, me boy. Not everything's from America." The Antichrist told him. "Now, the reason I waited for you is pretty important. I wanna make a deal wit' ya."

                "Already made a deal with three mates of yours. Had enough of doing that." John taunted, and started to walk down the hallway. "Do me a favour. Fuck off back to Hell to save yourself from a kick in the bollocks, and me the hassle of swinging the boot home." He called to him. The Antichrist stood where he was, and took a drag from the cigarette in his hand. He smiled to himself, glad that John hadn't bothered to listen to his request from Satan himself, let alone accept it.

                John opened his packet of cigarettes to find it empty. "Fucksake…" he muttered, dropping the empty carton onto the pavement. A sudden gust of wind caught the box, lifting it into the air slightly, and dragging it down the street.

                A black taxi cab pulled up to the kerb in front of John. He pulled at the cold plastic handle on the outside of the door, and let himself into the back of the vehicle. He closed the door, and looked into the rear view mirror, seeing another pair of eyes staring at him. "Alright, Chas?"

                "The fuckin' 'ell you doin' down in this shit 'ole?" Chas asked him, surveying the building behind where John had been standing. The windows were boarded up, and the wood was dark from rain and other liquids, rotting away with each day. An old, unkempt man sat in a doorway with nothing but a newspaper and a piss-stained box to protect him from the outside world. People had sprayed and scratched their names and phrases along the cement walls, a way to keep a part of London for themselves.

                "Came to see an old mate of mine for a bit of a chinwag." John told Chas as he slowly pulled away from the kerb.

                "How is the unfortunate sod?" Chas asked, watching the road for the not-too-rare sight of drunken teenagers staggering around or sprawled across the road, face down in a pool of their own vomit.

                "Dead." John replied bluntly. Almost without any feelings.

                "'Kinell…" Chas muttered. "Ain't easy bein' a mate o' yours, is it?"

                "Got a smoke, Chas?" John asked, changing the subject quickly to avoid having to explain to his friend why Darren ended up looking like an overcooked roast dinner, with his guts as cranberry sauce, and his infant son as a charred side order.

                "its fuck knows what time in the morning, me wife's doin' her nut with worry 'cause a you, and I'm missin' the footy highlights to drag your arse home." Chas moaned. "Don't ask me for a fuckin' fag 'n' all."

                "Miser." John stated. "Back to my gaff, Chas, on the hurry-up. Gotta have a smoke before I go spare."

                "Yeah, yeah, you're fuckin' lordship. So what 'appened to your mate?"

                "Natural causes, like." John lied. Chas knew he was lying.

                "Natural causes my arse. Nobody around you dies of natural causes."

                "Ok. Antichrist burnt him, his kid and his neighbours to a crisp." Chas didn't see the red light ahead of him, and almost drove through the front of a family saloon.

                "Shoulda gone to Specsavers, ya twat!" Chas yelled.

                "It was a red light, mate." John reminded him.

                "Fuck off. It was turning yellow." Chas stated. "So, Antichrist, ya say?" he asked, returning to John's story.

                "Yeah. I'm supposed to stop the tosser." John explained the rest of the tale as Chas pulled up outside John's block of flats. "Cheers." John stated, stepping out of the car.

                "Maybe you should take up tipping." Chas stated, again going home empty pocketed.

                "Tell ya what," John said, leaning down to peer through the window beside the driver's seat. Chas looked over to him. "If I stop this prick, I'll buy you a pint."

                "Anything I can do to help?" Chas asked, the proposition of a beer to good to pass down. Especially from John Constantine.

                "'Ave a butchers for anything suspicious, and stay outta trouble." John told him, then slowly walked towards the entrance to the building. Chas watched him until he walked through the door, then started the car up again.

                "Mad fucker." He muttered to himself before driving home through London's nightlife.

John walked up the stairs towards his apartment. He felt tired after a long day of wandering about the city looking for a bit of help. He also desperately needed a smoke. He walked down the quiet, darkened hallway, and stopped outside his door. He pulled the keys out of his trench-coat pocket, and pushed them into the lock. The door slowly creaked open. "Fuck's going on?" John wondered aloud, pushing the door open slowly. He saw Katie facing him from the other side of the room as he walked in. "I thought I told you to go!" John stated, his heart racing at the thought of the Antichrist getting to her.

"He told me to do this…" Katie replied, as if in a trance.

"Who told you to do what?" John asked her. Katie pulled a gun from behind her, and aimed it at John's face. She cocked the hammer back, ready to fire. "Bollocks…"


	4. The Pain of Death

**Part 4 – The Pain Of Death**

                Katie held the gun up, the barrel pointing towards John's face. Her hands trembled slightly, but the look in her eyes was that of determination. "Don't do this, love." John said to her, closing the door behind him without taking his eyes off the weapon.

                "It's gotta be done." Katie told him. "He said so." John knew she was talking about the Antichrist.

                "That guy was not your friend, he doesn't give a shit about you." John tried to convince her. "He'll kill you after you kill me."

                "Then he's not unlike you, then, is he?" Katie replied. "Remember Ellie?" John couldn't find any words to say, shocked by Katie's knowledge of his old girlfriend. "You used her, got her killed, in order to save yourself, you selfish bastard. And she ain't the only one you've fucked about with, is she?"

                "It ain't like that." John told her. "This guy needs me dead, and is using you as his murder weapon. Just like he did with Kelvin."

                "Doesn't matter what you say, this has to be done." Katie stated. "And you can tell me what you want about your life, it won't change the fact that you're selfish, a liar, a cheat and a coward." Katie started to pull her finger back, and felt it press against something cold and smooth. The feeling ran around her hands, and she looked down at them. She was no longer holding a gun, but a python. She screamed, throwing the snake to the floor. She looked up at John, who looked back at her with an expressionless face.

                "Sorry, love." He said. Katie ran past John, opened the door, and fled from his apartment. John walked over to his kitchen and opened the top drawer. He pulled out a new packet of Silk Cut, opened it, took one out and lit it. He turned around and looked at the gun lying on his carpet.

                Katie ran down the street, rain hitting her in the face, stinging slightly with each tiny impact. She held the side of her head, staggering across the pavement. Her mind felt as if some arsehole had ripped it out, stuffed it into a blender and switched it on full power. She thought that her skull was shrinking, slowly crushing her brain. She stretched her hand out in search of a lamppost or anything else to lean on, and found the hand of somebody in front of her. She looked up into the person's face. He stared back down at her.

                "You useless bitch." The Antichrist stated, and spun her around. He wrapped his arm around her neck, ready to squeeze, when another man calmly walked around the corner, gun in one hand, cigarette in the other. He blew out a cloud of smoke, which caught the light from the nearby lamppost. The Antichrist looked up at him. "Constantine…" he growled in an inhuman way. Katie struggled to free herself from his grip, but was unable to.

                "'ad enough of killing kids, 'ave we?" John asked, facing the pair.

                "How did I guess you'd turn up?" the Antichrist asked. John aimed the gun at him, put he pulled Katie in front of his body with lightning fast reactions. Katie cried out slightly, unable to form much noise due to an arm crushing her throat. The Antichrist was aware that bullets wouldn't kill him, but he thought it would be more fun to mess around with John for a while.

                "Let go of her, son. Else I'll be 'aving your bollocks for breakfast." John threatened.

                "Why'd you come here, eh?" the Antichrist asked, gripping Katie tighter. Her eyes started to bulge, and she found it almost impossible to breath. "To convince yourself you tried your best, but there was nothing you could do? Or because you actually wanted to save somebody besides yourself, for once?"

                "You forgot about wanting to merge your face with the concrete." John replied, dropping his cigarette to the floor and crushing it with the front of his shoe. He looked back up at the pair, his eyes covered in shadow. The Antichrist gave him a cruel smile, showing the edges of his teeth.

                A sickening crunch echoed through the night air, followed by the thud of Katie's lifeless body hitting the floor, her neck broken. The incident took another couple of seconds to sink in before John realised what had just occurred, and that he had just seen Katie be murdered in front of his eyes, and in cold blood. By then, the Antichrist had disappeared without a trace.

                "You mother fucker!" John screamed out, despite the absence of Katie's killer. He dropped the gun to the ground and ran over to the body. It was lying face down in the gutter. He rolled her over, hoping that somehow she was still alive. Hoping that by some miracle, God had stopped her from perishing at the hands of the enemy. Katie's eyes stared up at John in a way that chilled him, as if to ask him _Why didn't you do something, you bastard?_

                John closed her eyes with his palm gently, and knelt in the murky puddle beside her. A curtain in a nearby window was drawn shut, and the light died as quickly as Katie had. John squeezed her hand, and yelled out into the sky, up into the Heavens, and to God himself.

                "Fucker!"

                The First of the Fallen could watch anybody living on Earth that he wished. Sitting in the throne of Hell, ruler of the Underworld, he could look into the lives of any human living on the planet like it was some part of an interactive soap opera. However, there was one person out of billions that he continued to watch regularly; John Constantine. Ever since their first meeting, resulting in John tricking him into drinking Holy Water, he watched and waited for John to suffer. Now, he was watching a highlight in John's ongoing agony.

                He watched John as he hid in some darkened alleyway, whilst the girl he cared most for was zipped up in a black body bag, nothing more to the police than another dead woman on the streets of London. "Probably a whore." They stated as they took the body away from the scene.

                John's eyes were still a deep red from the burning tears and blinding anger, the first of which had stopped flowing now. Even though the Three Fallen had been forced to cure his cancer, John continued to smoke heavily. The First smiled to himself at the thought of John smoking himself to death again, this time unable to worm his way out of the inevitable. With the other two gone, John's soul was owed to just one of them, and the First couldn't wait to get his hands on it. He imagined how much he would enjoy tormenting John, causing him an eternity of pain and sorrow.

                For now, however, he was content with watching John's pain from the knowledge that he let Katie die in front of him.

                John knocked back another glass of whisky and banged it on the wooden counter in front of the barman. By now, John was feeling extremely drunk, and even more ill. He'd already thrown up twice; once on the way to the pub, and again shortly after arriving. He reeked of vomit, alcohol and cigarette smoke. He'd also filled up one ashtray and swapped it with another further along the bar. He looked a state, with his knees soaked, and his hair a total mess.

John raised his finger to the barman, who picked up the empty glass and proceeded to fill it up again. John snatched it out of his hand and poured it down his throat without waiting to take a breath.

Ten minutes and several more glasses of whisky later, John found himself back in the men's room, somehow managing to eject more liquid out of his mouth than had gone in. The force of which it was coming out seemed as though it should hurt a lot, but John couldn't feel anything. He did at one point think his insides were going to follow and end up staring up at him from the toilet bowl. Eventually, John stopped throwing up, and flushed the remains away. He put the lid down on the toilet, and sat on it. He put his head in his hands and sat in silence.

"You don't have much time." came a voice, calm and soothing. John's heart skipped a beat and he looked up. Katie stood in front of him, looking down into his eyes.

"You can't be her." John replied, looking down again. "I watched you die."

"I'm still dead, just a ghost." Katie told him. "But you have to hurry. We have little time before we get pulled into Hell. This bastard's killed a lot of people before us, but we'll be collected soon."

"What?" John stated, standing up. "How do I stop you from going to Hell?"

"I don't think you can." Katie said, sadly. "But you can stop everyone from getting sent there by stopping him, tonight."

"How do I stop him? I couldn't even save you." John asked. He walked past Katie's ghost and opened the cubicle door. Kelvin stood in front of him, looking up.

"Nor me, remember?" the boy stated. "But you didn't know how. It wasn't your fault, but we're here now to tell you that the Antichrist must die tonight. Hey, if you do kill him in time, maybe you'll save us from going to Hell. So quit bitching and go kick his arse."

"Look, I don't know if I can! Look at me! I'm pissed, I'm tired, and I'm fuckin' frustrated!" John shouted. "Tell me how to kill him!"

"Temper, John." Katie said, still in her calm manner. Her voice somehow managed to sooth John's soul, and make his anger vanish for the time being. "You mustn't get worked up. You must save that for the fight." John turned to face her, and noticed how beautiful she was, even when dead. She seemed to glow, and John couldn't take his eyes off her. "To kill him, you must use magic, but stronger magic than you usually use."

"Black magic?" John asked.

"If need be, yes." Katie replied.

"That's dangerous stuff to use, especially near this son of a bitch. But I'll give it a shot." John told her. "And I'll make sure he's toast before you get dragged downstairs." He added. Katie smiled at him, and John turned to leave the room. In the corner, he saw Darren hunched up, his baby son cradled in one arm, and his beloved crack pipe in between his other hand and his lips.

The alleyway was almost pitch black, the moonlight blocked by the tall, ugly structures of brick and metal that were somehow classed as buildings. They looked as though they had been built and neglected for decades, which most had been. Metal stairs and ladders stuck out from the sides of the buildings, working their way towards the sky like rusty ivy. In the darkness, a single red glow grew brighter, lighting up a pair of lips and the end of a nose very slightly in a dusky red light.

Greg owned and ran his own shop, which specialised in magic and the occult. He didn't believe in it, but there were enough people out there who still bought items from him. Greg was satisfied with making a living from gullible twats who were trying to make a love potion to get laid. It was mostly younger people who bought things, probably for a laugh. Now, at the end of another easy day, Greg sat at the counter and counted the money he'd taken for the day.

His counting was suddenly disturbed by the crashing sound of the entrance door being forced open and slamming into the wall. Greg turned on the main lights and they lit the room for half a second before shorting out. The silhouette of a man stood in the middle of the doorway, and the red glow were his face was Greg guessed was a cigarette. The man walked into the shop and lit a match.

"Shame about the lights, eh squire?" a gravely sounding voice stated. "Must be the weather." Suddenly, the lights came back on again. "That's better." Greg could see the man clearly now; spiky blonde hair, stubble-covered chin, tanned trench coat, and an overall mess of a man.

"Who the fuck are you?" Greg asked, slowly reaching down for his pistol under the counter. Working in a London alleyway sometimes attracted all sorts of drug-fuelled thugs and psychopaths.

"Touch that gun, you'll be killing yourself." The man told him, and picked up a book. "Nice place you got here. Mind if I look around?" he asked.

"Yeah I mind, I'm closed, dickhead!" Greg stated. "Come back in the morning, with money for a new door."

"Are you just gonna whinge all fucking night?" the man asked, looking at him.

"If you don't leave now, you're f…" The man clicked his fingers, and Greg felt dizzy. Moments later, he passed out and fell to the floor in a heap.

"I can get used to this." John stated, and started to pull books and objects he knew he'd need off the shelves around him.

John finished setting up the spell in his apartment, and lit a cigarette. He knew that if things went badly, it could be his last one. He picked up one of the books from the magic shop, and looked through it, reminding himself on some attack spells he may need. He put the book down, and walked into his kitchen. He poured himself a glass of water, and sipped it. He leant up against the doorframe, and remembered making Katie breakfast their first morning together. He took another sip of water, and smashed the glass against the wall opposite him. He took another drag of his cigarette, and walked towards the pile of broken glass, dropping the cigarette butt in the sink on the way.

He picked up a large shard of glass, and walked back towards the chalk circle markings and candles. He placed the glass on the seat next to him, and took out a box of matches. He struck the head of one against the side of the box, and it erupted into a single flame. John knelt down and lit each candle quickly, and blew the match out. He put the matches back in his pocket, and picked up the glass. He held it in his right hand, and placed the sharp corner against his left palm. He took a deep breath to calm himself, then started to drag the glass down his palm, ripping through his own skin and muscle. Blood dripped down into the centre of the main circle, and John started to chant quietly in Latin. As each drop of blood hit the carpet, it burnt through and made a hole in the floor. But instead of leading to the apartment below him, the hole opened up a gateway to another dimension, where the Antichrist would be dragged into thanks to the chant. John stopped cutting at his hand, and looked down into the hole. He dropped the shard of glass to the floor, and pulled a bandage from one of his pockets. He wrapped it around the wound, and tied it up tightly, before jumping into the hole.

John landed with a thud onto a rusty red ground, causing a cloud of dust to rise up around him as he crashed to the floor. He pushed himself up onto his feet and looked around. The whole place looked like a canyon, coated in red and brown dust. The sky was black, but somehow the area was in daylight. The Antichrist was nowhere to be seen. John looked up, and realised that the hole was closed. "Shit…" he muttered to himself. Suddenly, he felt himself being thrown into the air, and landed hard against a rock nearby. He slid down to the floor and looked up. The Antichrist started walking over to him.

"That looked painful." He stated, grinning. "Wanna go again?"

"Don't look so smug, you arsehole," John told him, in pain from the impact of the rock. "We're stuck here now. Kill me, you still can't do any harm." The Antichrist laughed at him.

"I know the spell you used to get us here, you Burk." He said. "It's a spell designed specifically for duels to the death and all that bollocks. The winner returns to wherever he was before this." Relief swept over John for a split second before he felt himself thrown into the air again. He landed on the ground and rolled onto his side, away from the Antichrist. He felt a sharp pain in his side as one of his ribs cracked.

The Antichrist slowly walked over to John and raised his hands to throw John again, when he suddenly felt a force push him hard, knocking him backwards. He landed sideways awkwardly, and his elbow bent backwards. John jumped up and used the same spell to force the Antichrist headfirst into another large rock, splitting his scalp open. Dark blood splattered up against the rusty coloured rock, and the Antichrist picked himself up, dazed but otherwise unphased. "That all you got?" he mocked, and lifted his arms again. John readied himself to be flung backwards again, but noticed two sharp rock pillars raise from the ground either side of the antichrist. They spun slightly so they faced John, ready to spear him.

                John muttered another word in Latin as the two spikes hurtled towards him. They shattered into tiny pieces inches from his body. The Antichrist fired another rock spear at him, only for the same to happen. John pushed his arms forward, and the Antichrist flew backwards again, but landed on his feet. He looked up at John with a smug grin before a huge boulder emerged out of the sky and landed on top of him at great speed. Pieces of bone and muscle sprayed out from beneath the boulder and smouldered slightly around it.

                John walked over to the messy pulp and touched it with his foot. It stuck to the front of his shoe like the remains of a boulder-flattened dead Antichrist. John smiled to himself, and pulled out a packet of cigarettes from his pocket. They were slightly crushed by his beatings, so he threw the rest away after taking the only surviving one out of the packet. He placed it in his mouth and lit a match against the boulder. His rib still caused him great pain, but he lit the cigarette anyway. He sucked on the end and inhaled a large amount of smoke and held it in. He slowly blew it out of his nostrils, and flicked the ash onto what looked like part of an eye. Suddenly, John was surrounded by a blinding white light.

                In an instant, John was back in his apartment. He looked around, checking he was really where he thought he was, and walked over to the sofa, knocking a candle over with his foot. He dropped himself onto the middle cushion arse-first, and sighed loudly. He drew in another lungful of smoke and closed his eyes.

                "Nice work there, John." Brendan stated, startling John. He looked up to see the chubby Irish ghost smiling at him. "You did good."

                "Yeah, cheers mate." John replied. "So he's dead, then?"

                "You flattened him with a big fuck-off rock, I should say he ain't walking away in a hurry." Brendan replied. John nodded, but wasn't in the mood for celebrations yet.

                "What about Katie?" he asked, not looking up. "And Kelvin, and the others who died? Are they safe?" Brendan's smile faded from his face. The silence told John he was too late. "So they're in Hell?"

                "'Fraid so." Brendan replied. "Sorry."

                "You told me that if I finished the job, I'd have a free ticket to Heaven when I pop me clogs eventually, yeah?" John asked, suddenly remembering the deal. "How about I swap that around so Katie gets there instead?" Brendan shook his head.

                "Can't be done, John." He told him. "What's done is done. There's nothing we can do now." John stood up quickly and went to grab Brendan, but his hands passed straight through him.

                "Bollocks you can't, get her outta there!" he shouted, dropping his cigarette without realising.

                "Look, John, I know what she meant to you, but there ain't nothing we can do to help her now. I'm sorry, but there are rules!" Brendan tried to explain.

                "Fuck your rules! You can stick them up your arse, along with my free ticket." John declared. Brendan looked confused as to why John would give up a guarantee of eternal peace and happiness, especially after the life he'd had. "I'm not gonna go up there because others died instead and didn't get so lucky. I'm through with that." He picked the cigarette up off the floor. "Go back to him upstairs with a message from me." John stuck his middle finger up at Brendan, and said "Up yours."

**THE END**


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